Your Hand In Mine
by Sir Gawaine
Summary: AKA - Four Times Calum Reed Watched Someone Die and One Time He Really Couldn't. Rated for strong language, nothing more.


**A/N – This is inspired by the look on Geoffrey ****Streatfeild's face at the end of 10.06. And also because I don't think Calum gets enough love and I kind of really liked him. So yeah. **

_i – _

A hot day. A warm night. An open window. Cut grass.

_Crying._

Gran is crying.

Calum doesn't know why. His hands are sticky; ice-cream. Uncle Seb brought him ice-cream. Chocolate flavour. Calum licks his hands. No one stops him.

Everyone is at Gran's house. Mummy and Daddy and Calum and Uncle Seb and Auntie Louise and Uncle Alistair and Baby Joseph. Baby Joseph is sleeping. Calum sits on Gran's lap and licks ice-cream from his hands.

Granddad is in his bed. He is sleeping too. His chest goes up and down. Slowly. Auntie Louise moved and wipes Granddad's chin clean. He was drooling. No one wipes Calum's face clean.

His hair is wet. Gran is crying. He dries his hand and touches his hair. Gran is making his hair wet. Calum looks at her. She is looking at Granddad. Everyone is looking at Granddad.

Calum looks at Granddad too. He is still sleeping. Calum leans forward to touch him. His face is cold. The day is hot but Granddad is cold. He makes a funny noise and Mummy starts to cry too.

"It must be time now," Uncle Seb says, "It must be. He's had enough."

Time for what? Enough of what? Calum doesn't know. He holds Granddad's big hand tightly. Granddad is the only one who is not scaring him.

Daddy wraps his arms around Mummy and Auntie Louise does the same to Uncle Alistair. Uncle Seb kneels by the bed and holds Granddad's other hand. Gran takes one of her hands from around Calum's waist and puts it on Granddad's forehead.

"Sleep now, love," she says, "It's time to go to sleep."

Calum doesn't understand. Granddad is already asleep. Then Granddad's chest stops moving. Calum doesn't know why. He doesn't understand. He starts to cry. He wakes Baby Joseph. Baby Joseph cries too.

Daddy takes them both outside, cradled in his arms. Baby Joseph stops crying in the garden. Calum doesn't. Daddy tries to make him feel better. Calum doesn't feel better.

And he doesn't see Granddad again.

_ii- _

Jamie Fletcher had a new bike, a brand new one that he got for his birthday, but Calum was still winning the race. He flew down the hill, turning to look over his shoulder. Jamie was only just coming over the hill, shouting for all he was worth for Calum to slow down, that the canal at the bottom of the hill was waiting for them if they weren't careful. Calum wasn't listening. He was always careful.

He cycled his legs even though he was going too fast for it to make a difference. The wind beat against him but he was still hot, dressed only in a t-shirt and shorts. The summer days were long and lazy and he had been getting bored with the slowness of them. They were much better now Jamie was home from his grandparents' house.

At the bottom of the hill he squeezed his brakes hard, swerving to avoid going headfirst into the canal. As he came along to the bridge he saw a man standing there lean over and drop a bag in the water, a bag that sank to the bottom like it was very heavy. Calum didn't know why he stopped but he did, shouting at the man, who looked at him and ran away before he could get to him. Calum threw down his bike and dithered on the bank, just for a minute. He didn't know what was in the bag but one time Sammy Turner had seen a man drop a bag of puppies in the water and wait until he was sure they had drowned, and Sammy had tried to save them but been too late. Calum was determined that he wouldn't be too late, if there were puppies in that bag. Maybe Mum would even let him keep one.

He kicked off his sandals and scrambled down the bank, landing in the water just as Jamie arrived.

"Cal, what are you doing?"

"I think there's puppies trapped in a bag, like that time Sammy saw," he said, wading cautiously out to the place where the man had dropped them, "We're going to save them."

"Okay."

Calum plunged his hand into the water under the bridge and found the bag easily. It was heavy, weighed down by water, and Jamie had to lay down and hold out his hand to help him pull the bag up the bank. Jamie opened it as Calum climbed out.

"It's not puppies, Cal!" he exclaimed, reaching in gently and taking out a scrap of wet fur, "It's kittens!"

The kittens were tiny things, smaller than their hands, and as they lay them all side by side in the sun, Calum could see that none of them were breathing. They all lay still, little bundles of grey and black and white fur. There were six of them and they were all dead. Next to him, Jamie started to cry.

Calum shook his head and reached for the largest one. He took off his t-shirt and wrapped it up, rubbing the kitten to try and warm it up. Jamie copied him, and for a moment there was silence as they tried to wake the kittens up.

"Why would someone do this?" Jamie sobbed, "Why would they kill baby animals?"

"I don't know."

Jamie's kitten didn't wake up but Calum was surprised when his started to move in his hands. He peeled back the t-shirt and saw the kitten try to stretch its legs. It was weak though, and it was barely breathing.

"Come on!" Calum said, "Wheel my bike. We have to get it to a vet!"

"What about the others?"

"Put them in the bag," Calum said, biting his lip, "We can bury them somewhere properly."

He cradled the kitten to his chest as they walked, watching it fight for every breath it was taking.

"Come on," he whispered, "You can make it. You can do it."

They had to walk up the hill and then home across the fields and it took a long time. Halfway across the last field, with their houses in sight, the kitten stopped breathing.

"No, no, no," Calum dropped to his knees and laid the kitten on the ground, stroking it gently and willing it to start breathing again. Jamie kneeled next to him, cradling the bag that the other kittens were in. He started to cry again and, this time, Calum started crying too.

"It's dead, Cal," Jamie said eventually, "It's dead. They all are."

Calum ran his fingers down the kitten's back and shook his head. It was so small. He'd never seen something so small. It didn't even look like a cat yet. It hadn't had a chance to look like a cat. Calum felt sick and he had to close his eyes, his head spinning like he was dizzy.

"Come on, Cal," Jamie whispered, "Let's take them to your dad. He'll know what to do."

Dragging himself to his feet, Calum scooped up the kitten and kissed the little head.

"I'm sorry," he said, starting to follow after Jamie, "I'm sorry I took too long."

_iii – _

It had been a long bloody night, with three idiots who thought they could handle their whisky being physically removed from the bar, and one woman who somehow got hold of so much vodka _after_ she had been refused service that they needed to put her in a cab and pay the guy to take her home.

Calum shrugged on his leather jacket and waved vaguely to Andrea, who was locking the door to the bar.

"Night, Calum. Drive safe, love."

He slipped out the back door to where his beaten-up Ford Fiesta was parked and got into the driver's seat. The car wasn't much and neither was the bar job, but they were seeing him through uni alright and so he couldn't complain. His parents were already paying for university and half his rent, and they would have paid for the rest if he hadn't insisted he could do something to support himself. The car was the best he could afford but it got him around, especially through London at night. The streets were not a welcoming place at half three in the morning.

He pulled out from the side street and started on his drive home. It only took him ten minutes on a usual night; he'd be in bed by four and up again at half seven to be on time for a morning lecture. He only had one night a week like this, thank goodness. He was already thinking ahead to his fourth year, thinking he might have to cut his hours down if he was to have any hope of scraping the first that his tutors believed he was capable of. Andrea would understand – she might even be able to offer him weekends instead, he'd definitely earned a bit of flexibility by now and –

It happened so quickly that, for a minute, he wasn't even sure what he had seen. As he pulled up to a set of traffic lights, deep in thought, a motorcyclist with the right of way had put his bike into gear and pulled out. Then a car, a big, expensive-looking car, had careered through the red light across from Calum and hit the bike at an unbearably high speed.

"FUCK!" Calum said, stalling his car as his foot jerked in his surprise. He didn't bother to restart it, because the other car was already gone. The bastard hadn't even slowed down. He was gone and the motorcyclist was flat on his back in the middle of the road.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Calum's hands shook as he undid his seatbelt and his legs shook as he ran towards the man. His legs were twisted at a funny angle and there was blood on the road. Calum couldn't even tell where it was coming from but he flipped up the visor on the helmet and saw that he had been wrong. It was a woman, not much older than himself, and her eyes were wide open.

"What's your name?" he asked, gingerly reaching for the woman's hand, "What's your name?"

"Sarah," the woman coughed, and blood leaked out over her lips and down her chin.

"I'm Calum," he said, "Hold on, I'll get some help."

"Okay."

He didn't have a mobile, had never needed one. No one his age did. Only business men had mobile phones but right now he was cursing it. There were no phone boxes around either.

"Sarah, I'll have to go and-"

"I call the ambulance!" a voice shouted suddenly. Calum looked around sharply and saw a man hanging out of a window above a shop just across the road, "They are coming! Ambulance coming!"

"Thank you," Calum called, waving his hand vaguely. He sat down next to Sarah, who was coughing again. Her chin was covered in blood and there was more on the road since when he last looked. He still couldn't see where it was coming from.

"My helmet," she said faintly, "It's so heavy. Can I take…take it off?"

"I don't think so," he said miserably, squeezing her hand, "You might have hurt your neck. I think you should leave it on."

"Okay," she murmured, "I didn't see – didn't see him coming."

"It wasn't your fault," he said, cursing the man in the car, "I saw it all. He went through his red light."

"I thought – I thought I hadn't made a mistake."

"You didn't," Calum reached into his pocket and found a tissue, leaning over and wiping the blood gently from her face. Her eyes were blue, the same blue as his mum's, and he tried immediately to put that thought out of his mind. His memory strayed instead to a summer's day, a day that he sometimes thought he had dreamed, a day when he had tried to massage life back into a kitten that was really already dead. He thought he had forgotten that. He had certainly tried to forget it.

"Ca-Calum," Sarah coughed again, "I'm cold. My legs – I can't –"

"It's alright," he said, "Don't try to move. The ambulance won't be long. They won't be-"

The man from the flat appeared then, running across the street with a blanket that Calum accepted gratefully, laying it gently over Sarah. The man knelt on her other side, his face as terrified as Calum imagined his own was.

"I saw the car," he said, in heavily accented English, "I saw him. I try to take number plate but I missed it. My name is Krupesh, by the way."

"I'm Calum. This is Sarah."

"Hello Sarah," Krupesh leaned over and took her other hand, "We're here. We're not going."

"Tha-thank you," Sarah whispered, and then she coughed again. Her eyes fluttered closed and her hand went limp in Calum's.

"Sarah?" he said, "Sarah?"

She didn't answer. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it tightly.

"Sarah?"

No answer again.

In the distance, an ambulance siren cut through the night.

"Shit," Krupesh said, staring down at her face, "Is she-?"

"I don't know," Calum said, unable to tear his eyes away from Sarah's pale face.

"I can't feel pulse," Krupesh said, his fingers pressed to her wrist.

Calum barely heard him, or the ambulance pull up behind them.

"Excuse me, matey," the paramedic said, pushing Calum gently to the side, "What's her name?"

"Sarah."

"Sarah, can you hear me?"

The second paramedic helped Calum to his feet, "You've done a good job, son. You and your friend."

The first paramedic was calling her name more urgently, easing the helmet from Sarah's head. Honey-coloured hair tumbled down over her face and the man brushed it aside. He pressed his fingers to her neck and waited, his face dropping.

Calum watched all this from over the second paramedic's shoulder, his stomach dropping as he realised what was happening. The first paramedic shook his head and sat back on his heels.

"No," Calum whispered, looking at the men surrounding him, "She isn't-"

"I'm sorry, lads," the second man said, looking at Calum and Krupesh, "You couldn't have done anything. We couldn't have got here any faster. At least she wasn't on her own."

A police car screeched to a halt besides them and Calum's night became a whirlwind of police officers and statements and bad coffee and all he could picture when he had a moment to close his eyes was Sarah's pale face and the blood on her lips.

He missed his lecture the next morning.

They never found the man who had killed her.

_iv – _

For a moment, he wasn't even sure it was Tariq.

For a moment, he convinced himself that it was some kid who couldn't handle his alcohol, who'd been kicked out of his taxi outside Thames House and would need to be sent home with a friendlier and more understanding driver.

For a moment, Calum pretended, then he couldn't pretend anymore.

It was Tariq and something was wrong.

He'd stayed behind after the kid said that he was going home, that they would have to put off the beer to another night. He'd stayed to work because he felt oddly guilty that Tariq was going home to pull an all-nighter and he had been planning to go and marathon the second series of 'Breaking Bad.' He'd been a bastard he knew, he'd forced Tariq into an outburst that he could tell was entirely out of character. The worst thing was, the kid had been right about most of it. Not all, but most. He'd always known where he would end up and although he had never sponged off his parents like Tariq had suggested, he never had to worry about money either.

So yeah, he had stayed. When he had started in Section D, he so desperately wanted to impress Erin and Dimitri, and then Harry and Ruth, Harry most of all. The man was a legend. Now he found that he wanted to impress Tariq, of all people. He wanted the kid to like him. He wanted to be his friend. It was so pathetic he almost laughed.

He'd been the last one on the grid when he finally left for the night, apart from Harry. Ruth had left about an hour before him, going into Harry's office and clearly trying to get him to leave with her. Calum watched them from under his eyelids, trying to hide the fact he was smiling; according to Dimitri, their relationship – or whatever it was – was very tentative and very private. He had not noticed that they were watching him just as closely.

"Don't stay too late," Ruth said over her shoulder, clearly having lost the argument with Harry, "I don't want to have to drag you out of here as well."

"I'm alright," he reassured her, "I'll be gone soon."

After one more cup of coffee and a few more files, he switched off his computer and made for the pods, nodding to Harry through the glass before he set off. Harry looked distracted and worried but Calum still didn't believe he would be welcome to ask questions or offer a sympathetic ear. That would have to wait until Harry trusted him more. On the way out, he called a taxi; he didn't fancy a walk home from the Tube station at this time of night.

He wandered down the steps and stood with his hands tucked in his pockets. It was so cold suddenly, strangely cold, and he jumped up and down to warm himself up. A car pulled up a little way down the street and he watched from the corner of his eye. That's when he saw Tariq falling out of the door. The kid was stumbling and swerving all over the pavement and then he was on the ground.

"Shit," Calum mumbled, finding his feet and running towards him. It felt like slow motion.

"Tariq?" he threw himself onto the ground next to him, "Tariq, can you hear me? Tariq, what happened?"

Tariq's dark eyes were wide open, filled with a panic that gripped Calum too until Tariq seemed to calm down, just a little, at his presence. His breath came in short, sharp pants, pants that ripped through his skinny body and reverberated right through Calum. He knew that he should be phoning an ambulance but he was frozen. Tariq couldn't lose sight of his face.

"Tariq? Tariq?"

And then there was silence as the panting stopped and Tariq's body relaxed, his eyes fluttering closed and his head thrown back.

"Tariq? Tariq?"

Calum leaned down and hovered an ear over Tariq's open mouth. There was nothing there.

_Jesus Christ. Shit. Shit. Shit._

There was nothing there.

He fell backwards, his eyes fixed on Tariq's face. An ambulance. He needed to phone an ambulance. He took his phone out but before he knew what he was doing, he'd dialled Harry instead. Harry would know what to do.

"Calum? What's wrong?"

"Harry, it's Tariq-" Calum's tongue felt thick in his mouth, "He's – we're out the front – he's-"

"Calum?"

There was the sound of movement from the other end of the line, like Harry had thrown his chair back and was running for the pods.

"Harry, he's – he's dead. Tariq. I think – I think he's dead."

The phone went dead. Calum dropped his mobile and leaned forwards, taking Tariq's hand in his own. It was warm. He was still warm.

_Shit._

What was he doing? He needed to try. CPR. He knew CPR. Calum lurched forwards and began to press on Tariq's chest.

"Calum?"

Harry announced his presence with a shout, dropping unceremoniously to his knees besides them.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I saw him get out of a taxi and fall and – shit, Harry, I think he's dead."

Harry didn't say anything, just reached over and, surprisingly gentle, pulled Calum's desperate hands away from Tariq. He reached down and felt for a pulse. Calum watched him dully, already knowing what he was going to say. Something close to anguish crossed Harry's face, before he schooled his features and shook his head.

"I called for an ambulance. We'll wait with him."

And he joined Calum in sitting on the cold pavement, staring down at their youngest colleague and having, at that moment, absolutely nothing to say.

_+ i – _

He knew it was coming, he just knew it. Someone was going to die that day and Elena Gavrik just wasn't enough. It was going to be someone else. Someone he cared about. He could feel it.

_But why did it have to be her?_

Erin takes charge, takes charge of them and takes charge of Harry. Harry has seen people die before, he must have, but right now he is frozen. He doesn't know what to do and so Erin tells him. Talk to her, Harry, she says. Keep her talking.

Calum phones for the med-evac. Dimitri can run faster than him, it makes sense he has to go inside and look for the med-kit. Calum envies him his chance to be away from what is happening outside. He doesn't want to watch Erin and Harry and Ruth because he knows that Ruth is going to die. He knows this will end badly. Instead he turns away, phones for the med-evac – _twelve minutes, it's not fast enough, nowhere near it – _and then turns to Sasha. The kid isn't much younger than him, maybe the same age as Tariq, and he is in pain. Dimitri is a good shot. He knows where it hurts. Sasha is trying to sit up and as much as Calum hates him right then for his stupid, senseless last attempt at revenge for his mother, he feels sorry for him too. He can see it on Sasha's face as he helps him up, as he presses his hand to the wound to try and stop the bleeding; Sasha feels guilty. He regrets what he has done. He isn't much older than Tariq and his mother was killed in front of him. He did what felt right. Calum hates him. Calum wants to help him.

Something changes and he is forced to listen. Harry shouts something and then Erin does and then Dimitri is back and he has lost his cool, for perhaps the first time Calum has known him. It's like they have all finally caught up with him, they all know now that Ruth isn't going to leave this place alive. This is a last, desperate attempt to stop the inevitable.

Calum forces himself to stand, leaving Sasha with his own hand on his leg. He stands behind them, so he can't see their faces, and he doesn't look at Ruth. It's too late. She's gone.

Erin puts a hand on Harry's shoulder, tears running down her face. Dimitri has pulled back, his face empty of any emotion Calum could read. He doesn't need to see Harry's face; he can see the set of his shoulders, hear the desperate sobs that his boss is trying so hard to keep under control. Harry leans down and kisses her, collapsing at her side and burying his face in her neck. It's not fair. It's just not fair. They were so close.

Calum is surprised he is the first to find his voice and even more surprised that he sounds steady and in control. They need privacy now, Harry and Ruth. They always tried to give them privacy before. Erin and Dimitri pull themselves to their feet, and Calum sees their hands joined and he understands their outbursts; this is a vision, a very possible outcome, of their future. Calum thinks he should feel alone at that moment but he does not. In fact, he feels safer somehow.

Sasha has passed out but they leave him where he is. He won't bleed to death, not from that wound, not before the med-evac arrives. They retreat to a respectable distance and then Erin collapses and Dimitri sits beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Calum sits next to them and is surprised, and grateful, when Erin reaches out and takes his hand in hers. They sit, the three of them, and watch. Harry hasn't moved. He is still lying next to her and they can still hear his sobs, scattered by the wind that is raging around them.

"It's not fair," Calum finds his voice and ventures a thought.

"No," Dimitri replies, "It isn't."


End file.
